Helplessly Intertwined
by The Mad Otter
Summary: Some people are destined to met, over and over again until they can get it right. Some times their lives overlap for just one moment, others for months on end however it only take one lifetime to get it right. (UPDATED)


Warning - There are some upsetting scenes in particular the mention of the Holocaust, if you want to avoid it please do not read the section **1942 Germany**.

Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, also I am adapting history to fiction, so it won't be perfect.

Edited - 6th October 2018 (what's this, actually updating work, can you tell I been sick in bed this week?)

A.N - I just wanted to say a big thank you for everyone who reviewed, followed and favorite this story - you are all wonderful and it made my day. I edited the first bit which was in the wrong order (oops) and have added a couple more scenes because you are just that lovely. Anyway hope you enjoy and have a great day.

\- x - x - x -

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

 _(First two lines of Rabindranth Tagore's Unending Love Poem)_

\- x - x - x -

 **674 BC Egypt**

It was his duty and pride to his country that forced him to be in this group invading Egypt, the Egyptians had no right involving themselves with the revolt in Ashkelon. They had their reasons for fighting and his group had songs detailing their brutal and unsparing killings of anyone with Egyptian blood.

There was more blood on his hands than he thought possible but he did not allow this to deter him. He relish in the rush of power, how he relished in the thought of butchering anyone standing in his way. It was as easy as breathing. It was a power that he never knew before, to decide whether a person lived or died in a moment was blood-rushing.

The village they had currently entered, many had fled on sight and many had fallen at their hands but she did not beg like the other women they had caught did. As Scabior dragged her towards him and his men, she struggled to land a few hits before she was thrown towards the ground in front of his feet. Her white dress becoming covered by sand and her defiant eyes that held no fear at the image of him or his men made him feel a stirring he had not felt for a long time, not since the passing of his wife Ginevra.

"Why have you remained?" He ordered, wanting to know if her spirit was a fiery as he hoped it was. "You do know who we are, don't you?"

"Why have you come to our village?" She snarled the words at him causing Scabior to harshly grab her hair making her cry out for a moment. He was glad that he was correct in his assumption, women who wept and begged did not amuse him.

"You should answer my question before any more harm falls upon you, little girl."

"What more harm can fall upon me, your men killed my father and my husband. I remain because this village is my own and no man will remove me from it whilst I live."

"That sounded like a challenge," he answered, entirely too amuse by her to consider harm to her despite her blood. "luckily I am in a good mood. Scabior let her go and allow her to bury the dead.

He hated the fact that he had to watch her walk quickly away from him and his men yet he did not have it in him to kill her nor let any of his men harm her. He could hear them talking about how he was going soft which he halted such thought at the next village they came across by his massacre.

He should have taken her then and there, left his group to do as they pleased as he snatched her away back to Ashkelon, however, the fates were not kind enough. Leaving her there in that village was the worst mistake he could have made as the invasion had failed and many of his countrymen had fled back home, some groups going through his village. It was with an even heavier heart that he wept over her bloody body amongst the wreckage.

\- x - x - x -

 **300 BC Greece**

He had never seen her before at the temple of Asclepius but that wasn't a surprise, more and more pilgrims were flocking to be healed.

Yet in a single moment, he lost all thought, including his vows at the sight of her. Her brown eyes bewitched him and her wild curly hair made him itch to entangle his hand in it. But the moment passed and he could hear the voice of his mentor telling him off in his head, he had a duty to heal the people and could not be led astray with temptation like a beautiful maiden. He forced himself to break eye contact and continue walking towards the back of the temple where he would hear and evaluate a pilgrim dream in order to give the right treatment. He could not afford to be lead off the righteous path and give in to impulse.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest as he walked away and did not look back, just in case he would fail and lose himself into her lure. He did not see her again though he would never admit it to anyone that day after day he would search the masses in order to gain just a glimpse of her coffee-coloured hair or her tanned skin. The pain continued in his chest even after he heard rumours that she had returned to her home, to her lord father and her arranged husband. It did not help that he thought of her every night and wondering whether she was happy.

\- x - x - x -

 **100 BC Sicily**

They had tried.

They wanted free of the shackles and chains that imprisoned them, they were tired from the long hours, the abuse of their masters and the fact that they were treated as lessers. They were human too.

And when they heard the cries of their leader, who taught them to stand up for themselves it was like a drum started to beat under their skins. They felt a rush of confidence and unable and they could not help but wonder whether all the people involved in the First Servile War felt this.

So they fought, they fought for lives, for the idea of being free and not being condemned to a life being deem lesser humans. To not be forced into labor, having to wait on hand and foot on deem themselves superior, to have control of their own lives. Brothers and sisters in arms all fighting for the same ideology, without a care of nationality, or why they were a slave.

They cried over those who fell, they cheered over the inspiring speeches and their victories. They danced feeling as free as the wind.

Yet they also made foolish mistakes, their happiness and freedom were not to last. They were outmatched. Out-weaponed and without the morale of their leader is alive. It was a mistake of them to think that they could change things.

As a whole, the remaining slaves threw down their weapons, the fight had left them. Even as the soldiers cruelly put back the familiar shackles, there was an air of resignation with them.

He could not believe that it would have ended like this. He had prayed to the Gods to show them mercy, to show them that they weren't wrong wanting, desiring to be more than a slave. Perhaps others would learn from them, that they would not make the same mistakes. It was that thought and the brief taste of freedom was enough for them.

They all waited patiently in the oh so familiar weight of the shackles, no words left to be expressed they all knew their fate. They would be resigned and dignified, they would control their deaths, a plan already formulated for this situation in the colosseums.

However as they waited for the soldiers to give the orders to march towards Rome, he could not help but turn to the person behind him. Even in the short amount of time they had to interact with each other, he had felt a deep connection as if the fates themselves had tied them together. He wasn't sure how she felt due to her always keeping her emotions close to her chest, but he had hoped.

And there was nothing he desired more than to hold her hand, to comfort her even for a moment that everything was going to be okay.

Yet nothing in their life had been fair.

A foul looking blonde man marched forward as the soldiers saluted him, his clothes indicated someone of a high station and he could feel the girl shivering behind him. He wanted to speak up and say something yet he just watched along with all the other slaves and soldiers as he yanked her by her hair towards him, uncaring of how the other slaves she was connected to also jerked as well. His hand was tearing some of her hair out in its tight grip as he slapped her across the face several times until he looked red in the face with anger and exhaustion. She begged for forgiveness and pleaded with him but he ignored her.

When motioned by the blonde hair man, one of the guards removed her shackles from the chain connecting all of the prisoners together in the line. And he then, he would never see her again.

He took one step towards her, his eyes focused on her slumped body on the body, no longer being held up by her hair but a sharp whip at his feet made him jump slightly and stop in his tracks. As the guards ordered them all to march to Rome, he could not forget her as she looked up at him for one moment before being hauled off by some of her previous owner men, the glassy look in her eye spoke to him so much that his heart ached. She did not think she would survive the night.

Every step towards Rome and to there sentencing, his thoughts only belonged with to the girl who had stolen his heart. He did not speak to others, slaves or soldiers alike, he marched, rested and eat in silence consumed by his thoughts.

He wondered whether or not she was still alive, whether death was a better scenario. He regretted never taking her hand and dancing with her when they were free. He imagined what life would have been with her if they had been successful.

As they were sentenced and dragged into the arena with the orders to amuse the masses whilst they fought against beast, he uttered no words. The only acknowledgment he ever gave anyone else was a nod in the cover of the night as they expressed their plan. For death was certain, but they would control it.

He made no sound as a fellow slave drove a sword through his stomach, his vision already consumed with his goddess. No longer was there a look of defeat and death in her eyes but the glow of the campfire reflecting in the warm amber.

He could not help but smile.

And this time, he took her hand.

\- x - x - x -

 **72 BC Roman Republic**

He was slightly nervous but he knew he had to wait patiently for the sign, it was time to fight against the oppressive life of having no rights some had to endure.

At least the family who was currently hiding him and some of the other runaway gladiators was kind and supported their cause. Their house despite only being a moderate size was perfect for the happy couple, he never before had seen two people so in love with each other despite their marriage being arranged. He would admit that he was jealous of how much rights they had compared to someone of his standing, in the eyes of society he was only worthy of fighting in an arena for his life and his freedom.

It was moments when they would forget they were not alone and would dance to the beat of music only they could hear that he could not bear. How they would sit in the evening and she would help him with his business and manage the household budget. It was the simple things that made him ache for something they had when she would swipe aware his quill and start to tease him about his handwriting, apparently, she was a scribe and proud of her job. Her soft eyes drew him in as she would fret over him and the others, causing some laughter from her husband. Her disregard of her appearance and her lack of wig or dye endured him to focus more on her personality rather her looks. How before her husband left for work in the morning after they had prayed at the altar she would touch his and allow her hand to cup his cheek, he knew it was because she was scared that it would be the last time she would see him if someone found out they were helping hiding slaves and former gladiators but it made his heart twist. He wished that it another time he would be as worthy as Theodore was to have a wife like her, it also made him question why he was willing to risk her for helping them out.

He did not know when his respect turned to enamoured but he was sad to leave their home when it was time to help the revolution. After the revolt had failed and he had fled the Republic, his thoughts on some nights would turn back to his first love as he laid beside his red-haired wife.

\- x - x - x -

 **600 AD France**

The sheet underneath him itched and was uncomfortable however he could not move, it hurt too much. He hadn't moved since he was deposited on this bed, thankfully a local nunnery had opened it's doors for the people when sickness had spread. However, he did not think he would walk out of this place.

He hissed out when he felt a cold cloth being place on his forehead helping his fever and forced himself to open his eyes. An angel stood above him with the most beautiful eyes he had seen and a face framed by a habit.

"Are you here to take me to Heaven?" I asked with much difficulty, I would not mind dying if it meant to ease the pain I currently am in.

"Hush, you need your strength," She answered softly before turning away to cough, "I think we all will be visiting Heaven soon enough."

"Do you think it will hurt?" Feeling scared of the unknown and needing comfort from this stranger, his family had already passed away.

"I think it will be like a soft embrace that you will float away in God's arms," she spoke quietly as if she had done a lot of thought on the question in the past yet broke out of her stupor with a bright smile that took his breath away. "not that you will find out soon though."

He knew she was lying, he knew that everyone in here including her was dying but if that was God's will to test them who was he to judge. He felt his eyes becoming more heavier and that it took more time to concentrate.

"That sounds nice, I think I'd go to sleep." He said drowsily, feeling her hand on his forehead again. He reminded that he should ask for the angel name the next time he woke up.

However, he never opened his eyes again.

\- x - x - x -

 **802 AD, Lesbos**

Her life was not fun and exciting, calm and meaningful; it just felt empty. She had always felt as if she didn't belong, that she was always meant for something more than what her city had to offer to her. She was meant for more than just spinning wool and making clothes for her parents, and then when the time came for her husband and children.

There must have been more to life than the biggest event supposedly in her life is moving from her parent's house to her husband's and attend his needs. It just felt like something was missing, that aspects that made everyone else content with life.

And then she met her.

The women who intrigued her, the former Empress of the Byzantine Empire, who had never needed a man telling her what to do. She had heard at the market the stories of her exploits, of her devious nature and immoral behaviour of acting above her station and she felt something stirring within her.

Even though Empress Irene was deposed and forced to move to the island, she could not be happier. As she took a glimpse of the former Empress it felt as if her breath was stolen from her lungs, she was breathtaking - graceful and poised beyond all that she could have imagined.

From the glimpses from the market turned into greetings of a familiar face, to speaking at the market about the different products and where the best quality of wool was from. Until they became very close that often everyone associated the two together, even when she had gotten married to the son of a friend of her father. Whilst she liked her husband, she never felt anything close to what she experienced with former Empress Irene.

It felt as if she was drowning, adrift without Irene's presence holding her up above the water. And in the middle of the night, there was a small part of her that believed that this sensation, that this deep longing was reciprocated.

It did not matter of the whispers at the market of how uncouth it was to be so close to non-married women, it did not matter to them of the different statuses of power and influence. To them, the politics of their country did not matter, all that frightened them was the fact that the guards one day may have orders to execute her. If she was close for days afterward, their bodies inches away from each other, it did not matter.

They would spend days after days together, from going to the market, spinning wool and nights in front of the hearth when her husband was working weeks at a time in the fields.

It felt like a shot of electricity jolting down their veins and making their hearts beat a skip whenever their hands touched. When requested, she would avert her eyes and was over-conscious of her movement as she would help the former Empress wash her hair. And whenever her husband was back from the fields and she was sent back to her husband home, there would be a flash of anger on the former Empress face. Whenever her husband requested she committed her wifely duties, her thoughts would be on the former Empress, she imagined that the rough touches were the soft touches of her, always afraid that she could disappear in a moment.

And then, she got sick.

She did not know why the former Empress was so ill, one moment she was fine, the next she was coughing up blood. She refused to leave her bedside, tending to all her needs as the doctors they could afford all said the same thing; 'there was nothing that they could do' and 'make her comfortable'.

Even when her husband requested her presence back at home, when he had hit her and tried to force her back, she would take the hit and refuse. She would spend the night, helping her up to the bathroom, placing a fresh towel on her forehead and fresh water by her side.

In the dark they would lie side by side, inches separating them and they would imagine, imagine the life they could have had, imagine being allowed to love whoever they could. To be able to kiss the lips that tempted and drove them crazy without fearing their communities opinion, without feeling disgusted with themselves for enjoying it.

Yet she never got better, they didn't even have more than a year together. She was there holding her as she passed away, she wept tears that did not stop for days as she felt as if a part of her had also died.

She resented her husband who could not understand her pain and still demanded her to do her wifely duties. With the spirit the former Empress Irene had taught her, she defied him. She visited every morning to her grave before she spun any wool. She refused the idea of bringing another life into this cruel and dark world, hearing the stories of the power, of how Irene resented her son for his foolish mistake of defying her. She refused the advances of her husband in name, once pulling out a knife on him when he persisted. She cared little of the fact that he was gaining satisfaction elsewhere, always reminding him not to leave behind a child.

It felt as if her heart has been smashed to pieces, each part with Irene's name on it. And she resented slightly how she had crafted her into a cold, harder person.

And she hated her for it.

\- x - x - x -

 **966 AD, Italy**

He stood up straight, his chin held high in front of the crowd that had formed for his fellow plotters and his own executed. He could see the party for Emperor Otto and his family waiting for their sins to be called out and to be hung. He did not have any sins, he along with his other plotters had tried to do the right thing, they knew that Pope John XIII was unfit for his position, he was using his power to allow other countries rule them and they had to stop him for making their children be born into captivity.

What was supposed to be leniency had become an event for death, most of the people he had conspired with were already executed. Others had been blinded, abandoned on the streets, unable to provide a shelter over their heads or food in their stomach.

Yet Emperor Otto had brought his wife and child to see the execution of men who revolted made no sense to him. Was he doing this to show his power? To show what would happen to them if they went against him?

He could not help but sympathise with the child when his younger sister had been alive, he had always made sure to shield her from the evils of the world. Instead, he tended and watched as illness took their parents away from them, the same illness that stole his sister from him as well. It shaped who he was. He could not help but think how would his death impact on the small boy, what kind of ruler would he turn out to become?

At the speech of the priest, attempting to save them should from damnation he could not help but glance at the servants of the imperial party that surrounded the Empress and co-Emperor and could not help the smile forming as he took one of the servants in. He stared at her as he heard his fellow plotter being brought up, say his last words before being dropped with a noose around his neck.

He had heard of men falling for women at the worst times and used to debunked the idea but for him, it felt as if his heart from beating faster and louder. The rest of the servants were focused upon the deaths of his fellow plotters, her eyes were solely focused on the young child. Her hand twitching as if she wanted to hide him away from the ghastly sight in front of them and a flash of discomfort as Emperor Otto eyes burned into her.

As he was forced up the stairs by guards, he could not help the laughter spilling out. He knew he would look insane to some, with his smile and insane laughter but he could not help it, for there was hope that not everyone was blinded by the Emperor ways.

Considering how close she was standing to the young co-Emperor perhaps she can advise him into becoming a just ruler. Her eyes glanced up as the priest prayed for his soul and the noose of rope was tighten around his neck.

He had no words to utter before death and just focused upon her eyes.

Her beautiful eyes, the last thing he ever saw.

\- x - x - x -

 **1100 Westminster, England**

The castle was in an uproar in order to prepare for the matrimony of their King Henry the first of his name and Lady Edith of Scotland, the cooks were preparing a feast and the servants were making sure that everything was perfect.

Harry weaved his way through the crowd of servants trying to get a glimpse of their new queen, there had been rumours about Lady Edith that her beauty was breathtaking however no one could confirm since she had been hidden away in a convent since her last appearance in court. He could hear his fellow servant gossiping about the fate of her family and how her previous betrothed ran off with another woman.

A hush fell around the courtyard as carriages started to approach, the closest one and most decorated held the Lady Edith whilst the rest carried her own belongings and a party of servants. He could see Henry at the top of the stairs readjusting his tunic, it was no secret that he had mistresses though he thought that he would not be so obvious with their match in the balance. As Lady Edith gracefully departed her carriage, he could tell that the stories of her beauty were true however it was not her that stole his attention but rather one of her handmaidens. A beautiful flower whose brown ankle-length tunic only ornamented the brown in her plaited hair.

He could not hear the pleasantry being exchanged by the betrothed's nor did he pay attention to any of the whispers his fellow servants were saying. He focused solely on the maiden whilst she took in account her new surroundings, he was slightly mystified how she did not hold herself like a working-class servant but rather her posture could rival a highborn lady. He felt her eyes meet him, an awkward smile graced his face which she responded in kind. Their mutual staring was interrupted with Lady Edith departure into the castle with an order for her servants to follow. A sad smile was shared before they both returned to their duties and he felt that something could happen between them which caused a goofy smile to appear, much to the amusement of his fellow servant and friend Ronald.

After the initial festivals and the wedding was out of the way, he tried to find her again, to actually talk to her rather than just staring at her. However, to his dismay he could not find her and only after a couple of days he heard the rumours that Queen Matilda (formerly known as Edith) had sent her back home when she discovered her husband wanted to have her as a mistress. It seemed that he was not the only one to see her beauty.

\- x - x - x -

 **1212, London, England**

The fire was engulfing anything in its path, the flames eagerly consuming lives and buildings whilst the heat ad the fumes killed others. They could barely see through the smoke nor could they hear anything above their own heartbeat funding in their ears and the screams - of people perish or the flames, they did not know.

What they did know was the fact that they had to put out this fire as quickly as they could. Even with the disheartening sight of the meagre amounts of buckets of water hardly seemed to stop the flames. Yet they would not give up, not unless they wanted the whole of London to become ashes.

She stumbled into him, water pooling at their feet as the bucket broke.

He had just handed her an empty bucket that had been discarded by his feet, though he could hardly hear what she was saying before she was grabbed by another girl who just brief a glance at him. She just looked at him again and nodded, before running away with the girl.

He turned back to the flames that were getting closer and closer.

He hoped that she would survive the night.

\- x - x - x -

 **1325 Italy**

He couldn't believe his eyes, the model that stood in front of him was like a vision of beauty and stole his breath away as if she was a siren. He could hear the awed whispers of his fellow artists and the rustling of charcoal on paper but he could not move, dared not to for fear that she would disappear.

She laid as still as she could lounging with only a bed sheet to cover her most intimate areas yet his eyes could not help focusing on her hair, it was like nothing he had seen before. All the different shades of brown under the sun that could not be contained by product or by anything else, it was so alive and free.

"You are too enthral with her looks," he heard his close friend commenting "at least try and do some work before mastero has your head."

"Who is she?" He asked, finally paying more attention to his surroundings. She seemed so familiar yet he could not place her anywhere, his heart ached to know her more.

"All I know is that she is hear as a favour to the mastero, apparently he knows her husband very well and she has been a muse for other pieces of art."

He did not speak to her at all during the week where she modelled nor did she truly focus on him as a person rather than another painter, however at night he would obsessed to make sure that the drawing was perfect. He refused anything else on this piece, she was a divine beauty and he wanted to capture it in a moment that he could claim as his.

\- x - x - x -

 **1429 France**

The battle of Jargeau was messy and unforgiving, the English forces just kept on coming in waves preventing any respite or any chance of becoming orientated. Harry knew that he had better reflexes for only being semiskilled sword fighter however he saw yet was unable to move when an Englishman had broken through his defence and was targeting his exposed left side. Thankfully the sword made no contact as another figure sliced her sword across his enemy neck before either of them had noticed their presence.

His saviour nodded at him which he could only return numbly, he knew that there was a high chance that he was going to die in this battle but to face death in the face was completely different. He owed his saviour his life. Despite being in the amidst a terrible battle he needed to know who to thank the Lord for bringing. Grabbing their shoulder before they could move away he only missed being skewered and had the first proper chance to truly look at his saviour. He knew his eyesight was terrible but he did not know how he could have mistaken his saviour for a man; short curly brown hair escaped from her helmet and despite the dirt and blood on her face there was no mistaking how feminine her features were.

"Your name, please I need to know." He shouted above the surrounding noise of battle to which she scanned the area quickly for any enemy before responding.

"My name is Hermione."

"Hermione, the maiden who would follow Joan to her death if asked?" He questioned in slight awe, placing the name with a face finally.

"Is that what they are calling me? If Joan asked me to give my life for her then I would gladly, as would other individuals. I never caught your name?" Her face was determined and her voice strong with her conviction and he never believed he would see someone so passionate and yet so modest about their word.

"I am Harry, son of James Potter." He responded, his middle-class manners automatically coming into effect.

"Then Harry, son of James may God look over you in this battle." She replied with a smirk and a nod of the head before launching herself back into action, saving another Frenchmen life and unfortunately cutting an Englishmen life short. He only took a moment of appreciation of how she fought to look so graceful and unlike many he knew before throwing himself into the fray.

After victory had been won, he wandered around to try to see her any, to know that she was still alive however he learned that she was headed to Meung-Sur-Loire whilst his group was staying to keep the French claim of Jargeau.

\- x - x - x -

 **1553 London, England**

He held his breath as he plunged to the stone wall, his ears hyper-alert to the soldier's footsteps. As they faded away, he waited for a while before taking a small breath in and relaxed slightly before continuing the journey. His Lord had given him a mission and by the grace of God, he would complete it.

When it was first proposed to gain access to the Great Tower of London, he ha believed it was a foolish suicide mission however the amount of sympathiser Lady Jane Dudley had gained made access easier. Even Lord Grey knew that it was hopeless in attempting rescuing her, a letter would suffice until they could join the rebellion to overthrow Queen Mary's plans of marriage to Phillip of Spain.

As he came to the decided site for the meet-up he prayed that this was not a set-up by the Queen or that the guards catch him. Pausing as he heard soft footsteps approaching, he slowly inched a sharp dagger out of its holster, prepared to stop the person raising an alarm.

He took a small breath in as he heard the footsteps came round the corner, he grabbed the person and pushed them harshly against the wall of the alcove, a hand covering their mouth as his other hand held the dagger to their throat. He paused when he realised that they weren't struggling, his ears strained for any sound that depicts this was a trap.

He froze as he felt cold steel resting on his thigh. Looking at his captive, he could not help be amazed as she didn't look scared at all but rather annoyed. He removed his hand from her mouth as well as the dagger, holding it away but never putting it away.

"My apologies but I had to make sure this was an incriminating set-up." She just raised an eyebrow before she moved the dagger away, also holding it in her hand. He knew that if he so much as twitched unsavoury that the dagger would be pointed at him in an instance.

"Your actions would have been incriminating enough for you to be hanged until death." She commented, before pulling out a letter out of her dress sleeve. He recognised the wax seal of Lady Dudley and took out his own letter from Lord Grey, both handed the letter over to the other party and hid them away.

"Quite right, how is Lady Dudley's condition?" He asked as he knew that his Lord would be desperate for reassurance outside of a letter.

"She prays to know how her husband is faring and her father. I pray you to have some news that could comfort her." She said, her hand lingering over the letter stuffed in her sleeve.

"They are both well, just waiting to see when Lady Dudley will be released."

They both froze as they heard a noise and realised that their time together was done.

"Until next time Sir."

"Wait." He said, startled with his boldness. "At least allow me to know My Lady name."

"Didn't no one teach you it's improper to ask for a name without giving your own?" She teased, which he could not help smiling ta even at his faux pas. "Lady Arianna."

"What a beautiful name, most fitting. I'm Sir Hadrian, until next time My Lady." He said softly, bowing and kissing her hand whilst he kept eye contact.

Before he could do anything else, he turned away. He had a mission to complete and he hoped he would see her again if only to pass another letter on. He dared not look back as he was sure he would have stolen her away from the Tower of London, perhaps next time.

Yet the fates were cruel, his Lord had been arrested to plotting against the throne, Lady Dudley and her husband had been executed and the remaining of their household that had not run were either place in prison or hanged for their crimes.

If she had been placed in prison, he would have done anything to break her out.

But she wasn't, her body hung from rafters in London. Swinging slightly in the wind and he could not help but mourn what could have been.

\- x - x - x -

 **1710, Caribbean**

He had never imagined dying like this.

He knew that being a pirate and going round and but he had always thought he would never die. How foolish, he never expected an old lady to stab him, screaming about her baby they murdered before succumbing to her own injuries. The knife was stuck uncomfortably in his back and falling on it didn't help.

Through all the screams, the clashes of metal and shot ringing out around him, all he could focus on was his uneven wheezy breaths. He turned his head to see if any of his fellow pirates would find him and help him before he died. Even though he knew this was the end for him.

On one side of him was the woman who had attacked him as soon as he had entered the bar, her face turned away and he was grateful. He didn't want his murderer to be the last thing he saw. Slowly he turned the other way and saw why he was dying.

Her skin was umber colour, reminding him of childhood memories of the brown light that would light up the forest in the morning. Her hair was made up of different shades of brown in thick curls that he could have imagined losing his hand in a moment of passion. Her sharp cheekbones only highlighted the slenderness of her lips and the straightness of her nose.

But her eyes, though glaze over reminded him of the smoky quartz ring his captain had shown him once, a gleaming stone of brown whose simplistic beauty drew you in deep. A single tear frozen on her cheek glistened.

Those were eyes he could have fallen for.

He could not help his own tears at the fact that he was dying, they fell towards the ground. It didn't hurt anymore, he couldn't anything. The only reason he knew that he was bleeding from his wound was the blood pool had grown far enough that he could feel it underneath his fingertips. It seems as everything else was fading away fast into darkness, there was no more sounds of fighting and dying, the old wooden bar seemed to be less in focus and the girl seemed like an angel becoming him.

A final breath left him as his chest fell motionless, his eyes never leaving hers.

\- x - x - x -

 **1887 Arizona, America**

He was nervous and excited coming back home, he had missed his family a lot and he couldn't wait to finally see his sweetheart in person after all these years. He wondered what he had missed when he was in school but he wouldn't have changed anything. The time apart had made him grow wiser, his feelings for Miss Brown seem less superficial, though he had come to appreciate the fairer sex.

He had shared a fondness for Miss Parkinson whose brother he had been close with at school. Though they both knew it would be temporary, he could not help but feel a pang of regret and melancholy.

Yet it did not change him, he could still appreciate the demure beauty who sat in front of him. Her brown hair hidden beneath a bonnet, her green dress whose cut on her chest left him desiring more. He kept glancing at her, smirking when their eyes connected before she hid reading the Bible.

He heard the slam of the cabin's door and watched as the mysterious and alluring women in front of him looked up.

That smirk did not suit her face though could send anyone crazy.

As he went to say something, a shot went off behind him, his ears started to ring from the shot and the screams of the other passengers. As he turned to see what was happening, he notices the women standing up and leaving the bench calmly.

He went to grab her hand to pull him down towards the measles protection the wooden benches had to offer but she evaded him, her hand just out of reach as she caught his eye and winked.

"Everyone stays calm and you won't get hurt. Cooperate and this will be over shortly." She said factually, which made some people quiet down in their sobbing. He could not help but feel disbelief that a young, attractive woman like her was a criminal, all the cases they talked about in classes were men being criminals. He could now tell that it was a team of four - the young women, the well-groomed brunette man holding the gun standing by the cabin door and two younger boys, teenagers going down each side of the cabin and removing wallets and personal belongings into two brown sacks.

"1 minute," the lady address, making the two boys hurry up as she shared a smile with the brunette. She glanced over at him, where he was still half crowed on the floor. "I'll deal with this one."

She grabbed him by the tie, pulling him up until he was standing. He could not help but stare at her face as she removed his wallet and pocket watch. Her fingers swept each pocket with ease as if she had practiced the move a hundred times, before finally pulling out a photo of his beloved. She scans the picture, raising an eyebrow at him before snorting and placing it back in his pocket, a half kiss mockingly on his cheek before she pushes him away. He stumbles backward, falling on the wooden bench and it feels like he cannot speak.

She was mad.

She was hypnotising.

He watched as the robbers walked quickly through the cabin's door, an air of relief replaced the fear and tension before hand.

He wondered how they would get off, but ultimately it wasn't his problem, he could not wait until he got home and put this adventure behind him.

\- x - x - x -

 **1942 Germany**

He watched as the train stopped at a station and the carriage became more cramped with the increase of people all alike with a yellow Star of David sewn on their clothes. She caught his eye as she stumbled when pushed by a Nazi soldier, barely holding onto the baby in her arms. Her cheek was bruised and her lip cut as if she had recently been in a fight yet it was her eyes that looked so broken that made him gesture to her about the small space next to him.

He swallowed as she came closer and closer to him, a small smile at his lips as he tried to put her at ease yet it came out more of a grimace. He felt the train begin to move again off towards whatever labor camp the Nazi had decided to take them too. He felt her breath on his neck due to the cramp conditions and focused on helping her stay upright as she focused on settling the crying baby in her arms. He could feel how sharp her hipbone felt underneath his hands, it was just as sharp as his. The soldiers had low patience for noise and had previously stepped in on a child that was too loud for their taste.

"Is he yours?" He whispered, trying to not gain the attention of the nearest guard.

"He's my brother, our parents entrusted him to me before they went on a different train. They thought where they were sending me would be nicer than the place they were going." She answered back having finally settled the child, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was paying attention.

"He's cute, what's his name?"

"His name is Teddy and thank you. Do you have any siblings?"

Their conversation was as light as it could be given the circumstance and they never spoke about where they were heading or how they were caught. It was one of the nicest conversations he had been involved in since the war started.

Unfortunately, he never learn her name nor did she learn his as their conversation was cut too short by a presence of a guard who kept giving the girl unsavoury looks. As they arrived at their destination, the last conversation where he felt like a human rather than just a number was all he could do to keep his thought off what the bleak future would hold. As they the carriage he, unfortunately, did not see her again due to the separation of gender and if his last thought was about the girl who gave him the last piece of comfort whilst he realised the room he was in was filling up gas, there was no one else to know.

\- x - x - x -

 **195** **9 Kansas, America**

He watched with an eagle eye and an amused smile at the situation at hand, he recognised the group from his school. They were always a bit outspoken but for the right reason, he was always taught that different coloured skin meant nothing that they were all the same. It was the late 50's times had changed. He could hear his girlfriend scoffing at their display, Pansy had always thought she was better than everyone else.

Still, he kept looking at how the group were showing off their receipts from different parts of the apartment store and asking nicely (a bit too nicely) why their money wasn't valid to the sputtering and raging shop worker. The ones he knew from a distance was Dean and Hermione, Dean was in his seminar group and everyone knew Hermione was the top of every class. He couldn't help admire the couple, she was so pretty when she smiled at his jokes unlike Pansy as it would sometimes come out more of a sneer.

He smiled at their confidence, catching the eye of Hermione before being dragged out by Pansy. Maybe at school, he would speak to them more.

\- x - x - x -

 **2018 London, England**

He watched patiently and contently at seeing her being twirled around with Seamus, a small smile played on his face though no-one at their get-together commented about it (mainly because he was pretty sure Hermione and himself were the only ones sober)

As Dean stole his boyfriend back from getting all sloppy with Hermione, she made her way through all the drunk dancing and a couple of passed out friends. He caught her eye and tilted his head to step out on the patio that Neville's house offered.

"God I feel too old for this, I don't know how I cope with it all in Hogwarts." She complained as she took her high heels off with a hiss.

A bubble of laughter escaped as he could not help think that she reminded so much like a disgruntled kitten at that moment. He took a seat on a cushioned chair which Hermione followed sitting quite closely and was focusing more on rubbing her feet than her friend.

"Mione you're 21, not 81, anyway people knew not to bother you at parties when you claim a corner to yourself with a book. They use to send either me or Ron in to test how open you were to having fun."

She pulled a face at him at the implication but smiled because she already knew about it. Before curling in closer to his side which he automatically responded with an arm around her shoulder, something that had frustrated a lot of old boyfriends and girlfriends.

"You make me sound like a dragon."

"Not a dragon per say but a woman who wisely choose the nights she would party." He counter-argued, knowing that it would make her laugh. However, he caught a glance of her tired eyes and the attempt of concealed bags under her eyes as she looked up to him.

"Hermione, you look tired, are you sleeping okay?"

She just looked up at him with a grateful smile that immediately put him at ease and a shrug of the shoulder.

"It's nothing I can't handle. You know I've been having the dreams again but now they seem slightly clearer and definitely stranger."

"Why, were you with some unsavory guys like Malfoy?" He teased, though a concern note made itself known. Whilst they were in Hogwarts Hermione would not be able to concentrate on anything when she got confusing dreams.

"I was actually in one of them," she answered more quietly and taking her time with her words which caused him to display a more interested and serious expression. "he was a painter and I love him with all my heart but it was weird as you where there too but only for a moment."

"Draco, a painter?" Harry could not help himself as it was well known through Theodore (who had been Hermione study partner and friend at school) that Draco was atrocious with anything arty.

Hermione could not help but go red before laughing at the thought as well.

"I told you it was a weird dream but it not the weirdest thing about it all." She turned to face him more, forcing them closer than they were before. Not that Harry didn't mind but he was positive she noticed the way his eyes flickered to her lips. "For example, I met you in every dream I had like everyone else would appear sometimes but you were the only constant thing I knew."

"You always dreamt about me?" His green eyes twinkled and an amused yet slightly deeper tone in his voice. It did amazing things to his ego especially as this was coming from his best friend and his crush.

She licked her lips unconsciously as she focused on him more. "I guess so."

He moved closer towards her, one hand started to play with one of her wayward curls that felt softer than he imagined. The sounds from the party became muted as he was solely paying attention to this moment that would either make or break their entire relationship.

"I dreamt about you too, and how I would kiss you."

She seemed to become slightly breathless at his declaration before impishly smiling at him, her eyes seemed to be burning with excitement and intensity.

"Then why don't we make a dream come true."

He grinned before leaning in and tasting her lips and setting both their world on fire.


End file.
